


In Which Stiles Hates The Heat And Goes Swimming

by ohgrayriver



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgrayriver/pseuds/ohgrayriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But Stiles can feel a headache building behind his right eye just from thinking about him. It. Thinking about it, as in the situation. He lets himself sink down into the water and stays there as long as his lungs will let him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Stiles Hates The Heat And Goes Swimming

Stiles is pretty sure that after graduation he’s moving to Minnesota. Alaska. Antarctica. Anywhere where summertime does not mean lying in a puddle of his own sweat, even with every fan in the house trained on his boxer clad body. His dad says there’s no way he can afford to repair the air conditioner, and if Stiles wants to stay cool, he’s sure he can find him work at the station. He’s beginning to reconsider his flat refusal. After all, there’s only so much time he can spend at Scott’s before Mrs. McCall starts charging him for food. That’s what she said last night after dinner, anyway.

He convinces himself that she was probably joking, and tries to work up the energy to grab his cell phone. But it’s at least an entire four inches away on his bedside table. When his outstretched fingers fail to summon the phone, he lets out a tortured groan and snatches it up to call Scott.

“Dude. Dying here. C’n I come over?” he whines as soon as Scott answers.

“Aw, man, sorry Stiles. I’m kind of doing something with Isaac? We’re turning the den into a bedroom for him,” he says, sounding sheepish. Stiles knows better than to ask if he can come over anyway. As much as he hates to admit it, he knows that Isaac needs the sense of family that Scott and Mrs. McCall can give him.

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine. I mean, that’s great,” Stiles says, deflating a little, in spite of his understanding of the situation.

“But hey, remember that swimming hole we found a few years ago? Let’s go there sometime this week,” Scott says in a placating tone. And it works. Stiles is placated.

In fact, as soon as he’s off the phone, he decides to find the swimming hole on his own. It’s an awesome spot and he can’t believe he hasn’t remembered it before now. He and Scott spent most of the summer before seventh grade hanging out in the small pool that the river created, swimming and avoiding any responsibilities.

He pulls on his suit and throws a tank top on before stuffing a towel, water bottle, and a sandwich in his backpack and jumping into his Jeep. The trip to the trail is shorter than he remembers, probably because the last time he made it, he was on his bike.

He’s not expecting to see anyone at the spot. It’s pretty well hidden, and the only way to get there is a fifteen minute hike down the trail before taking a sharp right into deep brush, and it’s another ten minute fight through overgrown woods before coming out onto a narrow strip of shore. He’s still not sure how he and Scott ever found it in the first place.

And he finally reaches the perfect oasis. The tree branches stretching out over the river, the water pooling deep, and an absolutely perfect breeze have him wanting to fall to his knees and sing Scott’s praises for reminding him of its existence. Since there’s no one around, he indulges in this impulse for a minute before he throws his backpack onto the rocky shore and tears his tank top off.

He wades into the water with a groan of appreciation before lying back to float along its surface. It’s peaceful and quiet and the sky is beautiful above him and it’s easy to forget that this summer has sucked so far. The number of small skirmishes with random mythical creatures is frankly staggering. He’s not sure he took Deaton seriously enough when he said the Nemeton would turn the town into an actual beacon for the supernatural. But after destroying clay golems, killing a basilisk, caging a manticore, and negotiating peace between a dryad and a hydra, he plans on taking Deaton at his word in the future.

Derek peacing out on them didn’t help, either. As well as their little jury-rigged pack handled things, they really could have used someone who had grown up surrounded by this crap.

Not to mention the fact that Derek didn’t even bother to say goodbye to them. To him. Just packed up and left after leaving a lame message for Scott about ‘starting over’. No ‘Thanks for saving my life over and over again’. No ‘Thanks for saving my sister’s life’. No ‘Thanks for putting up with my creepy uncle’. No ‘I’m sorry for confusing you sexually’. 

But Stiles can feel a headache building behind his right eye just from thinking about him. It. Thinking about it, as in the situation. He lets himself sink down into the water and stays there as long as his lungs will let him.

When he breaks the surface, he groans. Because Derek isn’t really standing at the edge of the water, arms crossed and muscles bulging, scowling out across the water at him. It’s not possible. Derek is starting over in parts unknown and Stiles must be experiencing sun stroke or something else that causes hallucinations.

So he ducks back under the water.

Only to have someone grab him by the back of the neck and haul him up into the air. Which he’s sure hallucinations can’t do.

“What the hell, man?” he splutters as soon as he accepts the fact that Derek is indeed real.

“Really? What the hell am I doing? What the hell were you doing? You were under there for way longer than your lungs could possibly handle,” Derek shouts as he sets Stiles on his feet. They’re still up to their thighs in the river.

“I was fine! And what the hell are you even doing here? I thought you were off starting over,” Stiles spits out, along with some wayward river water. He’s trying not to pay attention to the wet shirt clinging to Derek’s chest or the way his jeans and hugging him even more than usual, which is saying something. He’s so busy trying to not pay attention to Derek that he’s missing Derek’s deep swallows and the fact that he’s pointedly not looking below Stiles’ neck.

“I was. I was trying to find a safe place for Cora. But she said she wanted to come back here. Rebuild the house.” This time when he swallows, Stiles notices. “She wants to be close to Laura… and our parents,” he finishes.

Stiles isn’t sure what to say.

“I… yeah. I get that. I don’t think I could leave Beacon Hills for good, not with my mom being here,” he finally says.

Derek is still standing directly in front of Stiles, still has a hand on the back of his neck. And Derek is staring into his eyes and Stiles isn’t sure what he’s looking for. But he hopes he finds it.

“You should have said goodbye,” Stiles says through a thick throat.

“I know. That’s… that’s why I came here first,” he answers softly. “You deserved an explanation.”

Stiles nods, feeling Derek’s hand slide against him with the movement. He shivers. Stiles knows Derek felt it, knows he can probably smell his arousal. He wonders if he’ll do anything about it.

He doesn’t have to wonder long, because Derek sloshes closer and spreads his other hand along Stiles’ bare side. Stiles is pretty sure he’s panting at this point, but there’s no stopping it. Derek smells like pine needles and dog and autumn nights and it’s making Stiles harder than he thought possible.

Derek leans his forehead against Stiles’ and his breath is ghosting across his lips and Stiles moans softly.

“Is this okay?” Derek whispers. Stiles laughs, and captures Derek’s mouth with his own. His hands find their way to Derek’s chest, fisting the damp fabric of his shirt. Derek’s tongue makes its way into Stiles’ mouth and he whimpers and what the hell is it about Derek that makes him let out these embarrassing sounds? But Derek rumbles approval deep in his chest, vibrating against Stiles’ hands and he stops caring about embarrassing himself.

There’s kissing, lips and tongues, and Derek’s hand on his side pressing into him, and the water lapping around their thighs and Stiles is overwhelmed with the turn his day has taken.

And that’s before Derek lets his hand drift lower and his finger finds its way under the waistband of Stiles’ swimsuit.


End file.
